


So Much

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair makes a decision about his hair. Takes place after "The Sentinel: by Blair Sandburg" and before the fifth season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Much

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to all the wonderful people on Senad. The people who keep the lists, who make tapes and other goodies, who set up the fundraising opportunities, the voting reminders, and, of course, the list moms. So many people put so much effort into this list - this my own small gift for them. It was just a little to long to post directly to Senad. Warning: Blair cuts his hair.

## So Much

by elmoe

Author's disclaimer: Petfly owns them. I love them. I am making no money off of them.

* * *

So Much  
by elmoe 

Blair gazed at the flickering candles. He'd come up out of the meditation with a realization that floored him. The rightness of it both stunned and scared him. Despite his protestations and the jokes at the station, it was right. He knew the power of symbols, of rituals, had observed them for most of his adult life. But it was another thing entirely to feel that power moving him to action. 

The candles flickered over his head, highlighting the brown and auburn strands as he rested his chin in his hands lost in memories. Memories of his mother saying, "Detach with love." as he left the toys of his childhood behind. So much left behind, the stuffed monkey, the well-read books, his box of 1001 experiments for the young, all gone. 

But so many memories of Jim, their home, and their friendship. Even through the fights and betrayals, the golden cord of their friendship bound them together. Even now, after this latest fiasco, the shooting, the news conference, the badge (still in Simon's drawer) they were still together. 

This calm period, no classes, no tests, no papers, no meetings, no students, would soon be over. Classes at the academy would begin and he would see if his time with Jim would count for anything with the other cadets \- would overcome all the publicity. But that was a bridge over another river. What concerned him now was Jim. This friendship with Jim. How would they work out the change from co-workers to partners from roommates to partners? What could they do to mark this change? 

The idea had come to him of a box. A box with their past. He would cut his hair. He would mark the start of this new life by cutting his hair. He would braid it, cut it and put it in the box with his dissertation. He would detach with love and the student and the observer would become the detective. 

Resolved. He was resolved, as he blew out the candles blinking at the dark loft. Setting aside his pillow, and putting the candles back on the shelf he went into the bathroom. Pulling his hair tight, and braiding it he stared at the planes of his face. Was he really this thin - this harsh looking? Was this really him? 

He lifted the scissors out of the drawer, tapping them against his palm, then lifting the braid he sawed against the tight band of hair. Gradually, he could feel the weight falling away, his neck relaxing as he cut through the braid. With a final snap the scissors cut through the remaining hair and the braid fell into his hand. 

Done. Lifting his head, Looking at his face, it already seemed softer, more relaxed. His hair was still brushed straight back, but loose. Tomorrow he would have someone style it a bit, but he had done the important part. Holding the braid gently in his hand and went to find the box. 

Lifting it off the shelf it seemed so cold and heavy. Why? Putting it down on his desk he unlocked it and stared at the stack of paper, how could so little mass have so much despair attached to it. He lifted it in his hands. Paper. It was just paper and ink. It was just his life. Locked up in a cold gray box. It shouldn't be so cold. The grief came up again, welling up through his chest, choking off his breath until he gasped for air. 

Gulping he set the dissertation down on the desk and went to the closet, pushing back hangers until he could reach for the vest he had not worn in a couple of years. Why did he stop wearing it? Oh yeah, so many comments at the station. He tried to fit in with Jim. Changed to flannel shirts, Dockers, tied the hair back. And for the most part it worked. The neo-hippie comments stopped, and people started listening to what he said. 

Sliding the vest on and looking at his reflection in the mirror he realized that the vest was too small. Running around with Jim had changed his body too. Or maybe it was age. Shrugging out of the vest and holding it up Blair enjoyed again the play of colors against the bright blue. The vest held such good memories most importantly that first day with Jim. Even being pushed up against the wall in his office was now a good memory. Man, what a day that had been. Finding his Sentinel. Finding Jim. That's what all of this boiled down to - finding Jim. Being with Jim. That was worth everything, the vest, the hair the dissertation. Everything. Jim was worth it all. 

And their friendship. That was worth something too. That needed to be honored. His eyes brightened. This was wasn't giving up so much as letting go. Making room for the new. Yeah, there was sadness, but there was happiness too. Treasuring the past, but moving forward. Blair could feel his blood flowing and head spinning he sat down at his desk still holding the vest. His eyes moved from box, to dissertation, to braid to vest, circling around the items on the desk. Then nodding to himself he folded the vest to form a large square and stuffed it in the bottom of the box, making a bright warm cushion. As he was pushing the material into the corners, and straightening the edges he heard the door to the loft open. 

"Hey Chief," Jim called out, "thought you were making dinner tonight." 

"Hey, Jim, I was, I mean I will." He broke off as Jim came in stood in the doorway. 

"What're you up to there?" 

"Oh, this. Hmmm, well..." Blair turned back to the box, deciding how to phrase his thoughts. 

"Hell, Chief, what did you do to your hair." Jim pushed off the doorframe and came up behind Blair, his hand lifting as if to run it through Blair's hair, but then dropping to rest on the back of the chair. Jim stared silently at the long strands of hair, beginning to wave and curl now that they were released from the weight of the braided hair. 

Blair swallowed. "Ahhh, well...see I was thinking about how I would be starting classes at that academy soon, and it was kinda like starting a new life, and how different cultures would mark the transition from one life to the next.." 

"So, where's the tattoo?" Jim interrupted. 

"Ha ha, You wish man. No, I just decided I would start off fresh at the academy. You know leave this" waving his hand at the box and papers "behind and start new." 

Silence filled the small room. Jim stared at the pile of papers, images racing through his head, arguing with Blair, Simon crumbling to the floor of his office, of the news conference. His eyes moved to the vest. He could still remember how it felt crushed under his fists, how the fibers felt poking into his skin as he yelled at this punk who thought he was some throwback. Finally coming to rest on the braid. 

"Ohh, man, Chief, your hair." Jim picked up the braid his eyes filming over at the memories of Blair's hair shimmering in the candle light when he meditated, the sunlight glistening off it during a pickup game, the scent of it waving in the air as Blair yammered on about some obscure ritual that somehow related to the Jags. His fist clenched the braid. 

"Whoa, whoa, Jim. Hey, relax man." Blair reached up and covered Jim's hand with his own. 

"Chief." 

"What?" Blair looked up at Jim's stricken expression. 

"Why..." Jim paused, took a deep breath, "What is all this?" 

"Well, see, I was thinking about all this stuff I had, STUFF, man, all caps. Big Stuff. The diss, our friendship, that stuff." 

Jim nodded and Blair turned away and looked at the bright blue vest. He picked up the dissertation, and gently set it on top of the vest, then turned around and pulled the braid out of Jim's hand. 

"See, I thought I would put this away. It's important. Really important. But its who I was. Jim, this is important stuff but I need to let it go." 

"Detach with love." Jim snorted. 

"Well, yeah. Not really detach, it's hard to explain. It's like I have to honor what happened, man. It was all for a good reason. If I hadn't been a student I wouldn't have met you. And if I hadn't studied you then we wouldn't be friends. So it's good stuff. I can't just throw it away but I'm moving on and when I get done with the academy I am going to be with you full time." 

"Partners' Jim breathed out. 

"Yeah, partners. And friends." Blair took a deep breath. "So, this kind of just happened man. I decided to cut my hair for the academy, but I didn't want to just toss it. So I thought I would put it somewhere, to hold it. You know. I mean I'm not going to look at everyday or anything, but..." 

"So" Jim broke in, "it's like making a memory box." 

"Yeah, a memory box, but the important memories man." 

"Yeah." 

"Hey, Jim," Blair paused, took a deep breath and went on, "if you had something you wanted to put in here you could. You know. we could make it our memory box. Our friendship box." 

"Let me think about it, hmmm." Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder, "So, what do you want to do about dinner?" 

"Let's order something. Chinese maybe. I'll treat, it's my night anyway." 

"Works for me. The usual?" Jim turned and moved out the door, not even waiting for Blair's response. 

Later, after dinner had been devoured and the Jags watched, Jim padded down the loft stairs holding his dog tags in the palm of his hands, sliding them through his fingers, feeling the metal warm where it came into contact with his skin. 

"How 'bout adding this to our memory box," said Jim handing the tags over to Blair. 

"Oh man." Blair murmured. "These are really important Jim. Are you sure?" 

"Yeah," Jim rested both his hands on Blair's shoulders as Blair opened the box and nestled the tags next to the length of hair. Jim's hands began slowly kneading Blair's shoulders. "Oh, wow" breathed in Blair as he stared into the box. "There's so much in here." 

"So much." Repeated Jim looking down at the light shining off the tags, and the colors reflecting off the hair. The blue of the vest contrasting with the white paper. They both stayed staring silently down at the contents of the box, until with a sigh, Blair closed and locked it. Jim's hands tightened on his shoulders and Blair welcomed the connection. His hands reaching up to grasp Jim's forearms and Jim lowering his head to rest on the still soft, still shimmering hair and closed his eyes. 

So much here they each thought to themselves. 

The End.  
April 2000 


End file.
